The Love of Hector
by froggiegrl16
Summary: What if Hector's marriage to Andromache was a matter of politics rather than love? What if he had loved someone before? What would happen to them?
1. Chapter One

* * *

So here's the disclaimer: I own nothing except for a guitar, and that is really all that I can call my own, so it would pretty much be useless to sue me, even if Troy really belongs to Hollywood. I actually think it belongs to everyone since it's a legend that everyone studies or has heard or read about, but I am writing this fiction based on the movie – just because. So just remember that I don't own any of it, and please enjoy. Helpful criticism is welcome.  
  
Summary: What if Hector's marriage to Andromache had been arranged rather than love? What if he had loved someone else long before? What would their story be? Well, here is my take on it (okay, so that was cheesy, but aren't these things supposed to be?).

* * *

Her eyes opened suddenly, her heart beating rapidly within her breast. She hadn't dreamt about that particular day for so long. It had been so terrible. She could see his sorrowful face as he turned toward her one last time, and she had run away. She could not bear to see him pledge his life and love to another, even if Andromache would be a worthy wife to him. Him. Her only love. Hector, Prince of Troy.

* * *

Hector awakened to the stirring next to him. He smiled upon his wife and infant son. They looked peaceful in the moonlight that streamed through the window. Andromache was a noble woman, gentle and loving and good. Great affection welled up inside him, and he kissed her cheek tenderly. He left the comforts of his bed and walked to his balcony and into the night. A sudden shudder passed through his body as though the warm night had suddenly become bitterly cold. Unbidden, thoughts of her entered his mind.  
  
A thousand recollections seemed to jump out at him, but Hector's mind raced back to a memory he thought he had buried. It had been a warm summer's day, long ago:  
  
_"I've never heard that name before."  
  
Melpomene lifted her chin defiantly. "I was named for the muse of tragedy."  
  
Hector laughed. "Is your life to be a tragic story then?" He immediately regretted his words.  
  
A look of pain entered her eyes as she remembered the loving father she had lost long ago. She and her ailing mother now lived in a small house near the marketplace, where they sold woven baskets.  
  
Hector reached out to her. "I'm sorry. My father says you must excuse the unkindness and impudence of a boy who has only seen twenty winters."  
  
Melpomene smiled at him. "Your father wrongs you with his words. You are neither unkind nor impudent, my prince."  
  
He managed to grasp her hand. "I have caused you pain. Is that not some unkindness?"  
  
"You mend the wound with the touch of your hand," she whispered, her dark eyes meeting his.  
  
They both seemed to be waiting for something, unconsciously drawing closer to each other. Hector held her hands to his heart.  
  
"And your hands," he smiled at her, "make my heart quiver as though it has discovered life only now."  
  
He bent to touch his lips to hers, but the great horns of the city interrupted their quiet reverie, announcing the king's return from some distant land he had conquered.  
  
Melpomene smiled once more and turned away from Hector. "You must welcome your father, my prince."   
_  
Hector shook himself from the memory at a cry from his son. He had not seen Melpomene since his marriage seven years ago. She had stopped coming to the palace and had managed to avoid him all that time. He wondered, now, if she was married. Surely he would have heard of it before now. Did she have a family? Had he helped make her life the tragic story that had started many years ago? His heart wrenched painfully at the thought of being the cause of her grief. He realized now why Paris had brought Helen of Sparta with him. He loved her with the passion that Hector once had known. Even now, after all these years, he still ached for her. His love still burned for Melpomene. Hector wished more than anything that it had been Melpomene to bear his son. He smiled as his son tossed again. Although he had given much of his heart away to Melpomene when he was twenty years old, there was some left, and all of it belonged to Andromache – and their son.

* * *

"Here it is," Melpomene muttered under her breath. "The place I see in my dreams must be before me in waking also."  
  
She stood before the great palace of the King Priam and his two sons, Hector and Paris. She knew that the festivities of Paris' and Helen's wedding would not be over yet. There was still feasting and merry-making going on, even as Hector prepared for war. Melpomene could picture his face; she knew it so well. She could see the anger at Paris but also the unfailing loyalty and love. She could see the resignation creep onto his noble face. He knew war was coming. It was inevitable. Then the determination would enter, and he would concentrate on the battle as though nothing else mattered. And then sorrow would cross his mind as his thoughts shifted to his beautiful wife and child. Melpomene shook herself. This place always brought it back to her.  
  
It was the large square where the spring festival always took place. It was the place where she had seen him and lost her heart forever:  
  
_The petals of flowers seemed to rain on the subjects as they drank wine and stuffed their mouths with delightful foods. There was dancing and rejoicing and laughing all around. The young men would chase the young women until both were quite out of breath and collapsed. A hundred kisses were stolen while fathers' eyes were turned away. The old women laughed together as the old men joined in with the young, wrestling and fighting as though they were not a day older than sixteen. It was an exciting, breathless time. And it was here, under this olive tree, that Melpomene had first laid her eyes upon him.  
  
There was no doubt at all who he was. He had the look of his royal family, but that was not what she thought of.  
  
Their eyes had met as he stumbled away from the sword-fight he had been playing at with his friends. He was twenty, and she was five years younger, but it didn't matter. Hector had looked at her as though he had never seen a girl before, and she had become lost in the alluring pools of darkness that were his eyes. Such eyes she had never seen before.  
  
He approached her slowly, as though scared she were some vision or dream. He moved his fingers to her hair and gently removed a petal from her curly locks.  
  
"My lady," he whispered.  
  
"My lord," she answered, her voice tremulous with emotion.  
  
Hector cleared his throat. "Please forgive me, but my eyes have been opened for the first time, and I feel I cannot drink it in fast enough."  
  
Her heart seemed to beat so loudly that Melpomene feared he would hear it. "Then there is much to see."  
  
They walked around the city, hand in hand, ignoring the crowds around them. The world seemed new and bright and wonderful, and it seemed that nothing could penetrate their happiness.   
_  
Melpomene brought herself back to the moment with a sigh. She touched the trunk of the olive tree affectionately. Her world had been bright and wonderful for a short time. All this pain was worth the four years of happiness she had known with him. Melpomene smiled to herself. They had been wonderful years, and she wouldn't even trade them for a place among the gods.

* * *

I really hope you all liked this! Let me know what you think with reviews! Reviews are wonderful things!


	2. Chapter Two

As surely as the wind brought the Greeks nearer, Hector knew he would get no sleep this night. With a long look at his wife and son, he left the confines of his chambers. The night was a warm one, thick with the smell of the flowers planted throughout the city. The great city was silent, and Hector was grateful for it. He could gather his thoughts and make sense of them all in the quiet.  
  
He walked the lonely streets in deep thought. Pictures raced through his brain faster than any of the horses in his father's stable; so fast that Hector feared he might go mad. He leaned against a stone wall to catch his breath and sort out the strange visions that entered his mind. His thoughts turned to her, as they had every night since they had parted:  
  
_"Do you love me?"  
  
"Do you doubt it?" Hector laughed. They had been together every day for two years. Surely she could not mean it!  
  
"I do not jest," Melpomene uttered seriously.  
  
Hector sobered immediately. "What makes you question my love?"  
  
She turned away and looked into the west where the sun was setting. "You are away so often, training for battles and wars that I can have no part in."  
  
"That is my world," Hector reminded her. "I have been brought up to defend my people, to make their wounds my own."  
  
"I wonder, sometimes, if your love truly lies in your swords and shields." She met his eyes, unwavering.  
  
Hector could see truth in what she said. He loved the feel of the sword in his hand, the feeling of strength – the kind of strength that conquers nations and makes mighty rulers cower. But each time he assaulted with his weapons, Melpomene's gentle face was there, taking precedence over everything else.  
  
"Listen to my words," Hector spoke fiercely, taking her face in his hands, "for never have I spoken truer: I love you! Do you understand? I love you with all that is within my being! I cannot find the words to tell you of the depths I feel for you!" He sputtered for a few moments but then kissed her intensely. Her lips moved, not in protest, but in concert with his. Her hands wended their way around his neck and buried themselves in his thick, dark hair.  
  
After several minutes, they pulled apart, each needing breath, but Hector still held her tightly.  
  
"I love you," he whispered tenderly, his voice husky with emotion.  
  
"I will never doubt again," Melpomene answered before drawing him into another passionate kiss.  
_  
Soft footsteps on the street awakened Hector from his reflections. He looked up to see a hooded figure walking slowly through the night. His suspicions were aroused immediately. It was a warm evening, what need was there for a cloak? He pursued the form quietly, not wishing to wake the citizens of Troy. The hooded person stopped beneath a fountain and dipped its hand into the cool water. The cloak suddenly slipped to the ground, and the cry left Hector's lips before he could stop it.  
  
"Melpomene!"  
  
She turned with a gasp. The years had not changed her face, but her eyes showed the ravages of sorrow and time. Her full lips formed his name silently, but she drew back as he approached.  
  
"Do I frighten you?" he asked slowly.  
  
She shook her head vigorously. "No, my lord."  
  
"Then why do you shrink from me as though in fear?"  
  
She could not bear the pain in his eyes. "I cannot be near you!"  
  
He resumed his steps. "Why?"  
  
Tears were raining down her fair face. "Please don't come any closer!"  
  
Hector's pain was evident in his voice. "What have I done to cause you to despise me? Do you not recall that it was you who urged me to leave you?"  
  
"I remember."  
  
They were silent. Only the rippling of the water in the fountain could be heard in the dark night.  
  
Hector took another step. "Do you also remember the vow I once made to you?"  
  
"I remember."  
  
"Tell me, then," he pleaded. "What promise did I make?"  
  
Her voice became steadier. "You promised to love me until death would take you to Hades, but even there your love would not be quenched."  
  
"Then know now that I keep my vow." Hector stood within three feet of her now.  
  
With a sudden cry, Melpomene threw herself into his arms. Sobs racked her body, and Hector held her close while pressing kisses against her hair.  
  
"My love," he whispered over and over. "My only love!"  
  
The seconds passed by slowly, each cherishing the feel of their hearts beating as one. Melpomene clung to him as though she would die without his touch. She had hoped fervently that this day would someday come. What, then, was this guilt that washed over her?  
  
She pulled away again suddenly as if she had been burned.  
  
"No!" she shouted. "Think of Andromache! Think of your son!"  
  
Hector was stung by her words. "You mean more to me than anything else in this world!"  
  
She seemed to gasp for breath. "You are an honorable man. Do not throw that away for me!"  
  
With a look that seemed to dash her heart into pieces, Hector walked away. Their exchange had awakened someone in a nearby dwelling, but that did not concern Melpomene now.  
  
She watched him depart, each of his steps causing her to flinch. She longed to call out for him and beg him to return, but wisdom stayed her tongue. He could never be hers, and it was her own fault. She had sent him away:  
  
_"What is wrong?"  
  
Hector kept on beating the wall with his fist. His knuckles were now bleeding from the effort. His anger seemed to grow instead of diminish, despite the heavy blows he showered upon the undeserving stone.  
  
Melpomene would have smiled if she had not been so distraught. Only a man would think of fighting a wall. But now was not the time for her humor. She cautiously snatched his arms and held them.  
  
"What is it?" she murmured soothingly into his ear.  
  
Hector clenched his teeth, his chest heaving with emotion. He shook his head. "It is too terrible."  
  
She led him into her dwelling and wet several cloths. Her mother had died several months ago, but Melpomene still expected to see her come out of the back room and help dress Hector's wounds. She shook herself and began to clean the blood off his hands.  
  
Once his hands had been bandaged, Melpomene felt brave enough to try again. "Please tell me what's wrong."  
  
He gazed at her adoringly. "I cannot live without you." He stroked her cheek, and she closed her eyes, reveling in his attentions.  
  
"Please tell me," she whispered.  
  
Hector's eyes burned with anger again. "Father wishes me to marry. He has made an alliance with some other country and wants me to marry their princess."  
  
Fear gripped Melpomene's heart, and her eyes widened with disbelief. "What country?"  
  
He shook his head. "I don't know. Does it matter?"  
  
"But you can't!" she cried in desperation.  
  
"I know!" he shouted, and then more gently, "I know."  
  
Melpomene knelt at his feet and placed her head on his knee. "What are you going to do?"  
  
He smiled gently. "I'll just have to refuse Father."  
  
Melpomene smiled, relieved, and Hector left to talk with King Priam. The king was a wise and good man, and Melpomene felt sure he would listen to Hector's plea.  
  
But Melpomene's thoughts turned that night as she tried to sleep. What if this country waged war with Troy if the marriage did not happen? What if, in refusing to do his father's will, a rift was caused between father and son? A thousand questions rushed through her head. She couldn't bear to be the cause of so many problems. With resolve, Melpomene left her house and made the trek to the palace.  
  
She met Hector in the gardens. His face was flushed with anticipation. He ran to her as he saw her approach.  
  
"I have not yet spoken to Father," he murmured, "but I will at dawn's first light. He has been meeting with a group of his counselors all day, but soon. Soon."  
  
Melpomene placed her fingers over his lips. She had to force the words out of her mouth, "Do not protest your father's will, my love."  
  
Hector stepped back in confusion. This was not what he had expected. "What are you talking about?"  
  
Tears dotted her pale cheeks. "Marry the princess. Do what your father wishes."  
  
Hector stared at her incredulously. "This is madness! Do you wish to see me give my life to a stranger?"  
  
She did not answer him. He grasped her shoulders firmly and looked hard at her face. "You asked me this question two years ago, and I demand it of you now: do you love me?"  
  
She wished in that moment that she had not decided to take this course. "I love you more than anything."  
  
"Then why do you say these things?" Hector wondered, frustrated. "If you love me, then I must speak with my father tomorrow."  
  
"If you refuse your father," Melpomene continued steadily, "then so shall I refuse you."  
  
"You cannot mean this!" Hector exclaimed loudly. He sank down upon his knees. "In the name of all that is sacred, I beg you! Please do not do this!"  
  
Melpomene's breath caught in her throat. "Goodbye." She gave him one last kiss and was gone.  
  
He stayed there on his knees until the sky in the east had turned golden orange. The palace was beginning to come alive with the noises of people. Hector still did not move. In disbelief, he whispered her name over and over. He longed to run after her, but he could not seem to make his limbs move. It was as if a part of him had died. She had ripped herself from his life, and he knew not why, but she was gone. And he knew that she didn't want him to chase her.  
  
Melpomene had run until she was out of breath and collapsed in the empty street. She had hoped he would not chase her, but she had also hoped that he would. She knew right now he would be torn with anguish. Had she made the right decision? Or was she letting go the only love she would ever know? She let her grief overcome her, and she cried in the still night.  
_  
Melpomene shuddered. She still was not sure if she had been right in her actions, but it didn't matter anymore. He had married the princess Andromache, and nothing could change that. She prayed every night that her life would be ended soon, but each day she awoke with the sun and went about her daily business. She smiled with the other young woman, and she laughed with the children, but her heart still beat for the Prince of Troy – and it would until it ceased to beat at all.

* * *

I really appreciate my reviewers so far! It makes me feel very encouraged that you like my story. There is more to come, so keep on reading! 


	3. Chapter Three

Hector's black mood frightened Andromache. Most of the people in the palace assumed it was Paris's folly that darkened Hector's eyes with anger, but she knew the truth. She knew his rage had nothing to do with the coming war. She had heard him call out the woman's name in his dreams. She had seen his eyes unconsciously search for her when they paraded through the city. And each time it seemed to wrench her heart more painfully than the last.  
  
Andromache placed a tentative hand upon his shoulder. He gave her a small smile.  
  
"Did something happen, my love?" she asked.  
  
Hector shook his head and took her slender hand in his. "I'm sorry. My anger is not for you." He trailed off in thought. "I would that you could fly from here before this evil overtakes us."  
  
She rested her head against his broad shoulder. "Do not make me go! I know that your heart does not belong to me. It never has, but please do not drive me from your side!"  
  
Hector gathered her in his arms. He should have known that she would perceive his true feelings. "I'm so sorry. You are loving and gentle and good, and I? I am a man who cannot forget the memory of another. I am not worthy of you, Andromache. Why do you continue to love me?"  
  
"How could I help it?" she answered quietly.  
  
"I will not force you to leave me," Hector promised solemnly, "until I perceive that the city will fall. Then you must flee."  
  
"Will you go with me if that awful day comes?" Her eyes searched his face intently, hoping the answer would not be what she thought.  
  
"If death has not taken me, I shall remain by your side for the rest of our lives." Hector's eyes were grave. "And though much of my heart has been left in the care of another, I give you the rest of me freely and without reserve." He leaned closer to her and brushed her lips with his. "You are worthy of so much more than this man can give."  
  
"But I love this man," she smiled at him.  
  
They stood there together for a long time, until the darkness fell over the city. Hector left her side again that night to ready the men for battle. The Greeks would arrive within a day, and he had already lost much time because of matters of the heart.

* * *

Melpomene looked up from her basket weaving in alarm. The great horn of the city was being blown. The Greeks had arrived. Her hands trembled as she placed the basket in the dirt. She knew instinctively that this war would live on forever, but its heroes would not live with it. Troy would fall. Melpomene tried to laugh at herself. These were the thoughts of someone crazed. They were protected by a great wall. No army had ever managed to breach it. And the city was defended by the greatest warrior known in this part of the world – Hector.  
  
Hector had always been his peoples' hope. His love for his countrymen was evident in his every breath. He would gladly give his life for them, and Melpomene knew that someday he would.  
  
"Please," she pleaded with the unseen, "do not let it be this day, this war. Please."  
  
But even as she tried to reassure herself, a shiver passed along her spine. This war could not end happily, even if Troy was the victor.

* * *

The whole city whispered it: Achilles! The mighty Achilles had come to Troy. Andromache heard it spread through the palace like a wildfire. The name brought terror to her being like she had never known. This man, Achilles, would be Hector's downfall. She could not tell how this knowledge came to her, but it broke upon her like a wave, and she sank to the floor in grief. Hector would perish. Of this, she was certain.

* * *

Melpomene watched with the others as Hector and his few soldiers returned to the confines of the city. She took care to hide in the crowd so that Hector would not see her. What had he seen that touched his face with utter confusion? She longed to reach out to him, to be drawn into his warm embrace. Only in his arms would she ever know peace and comfort. She returned to her hut in silence, ignoring the wails of the people around her. They seemed to finally realize the horror that was upon them.  
  
Her deft hands began to weave the supple sticks together. The baskets were woven so tightly that many Trojan women used them to carry water from the fountains. She always felt a sense of pride when the women of Troy spoke about her creations. No one had been able to match her skills when it came to molding the sticks. The feel of the thin wood in her hands brought back a distant memory:  
  
_"I have one more basket to finish today."  
  
Hector laughed. "Can you not set aside the work? Just for one hour?"  
  
Melpomene smiled mischievously. "The last time you asked me to leave it for an hour, I did not return until dawn!"  
  
"But the palace gardens are a much more inviting place, my love!" he protested innocently.  
  
"Indeed they are," Melpomene agreed slyly, "but the clever prince of Troy would only lure me there to whisper sweet things in my ear and distract me!"  
  
He leaned close to her and murmured in her ear, "Am I not a pleasant distraction?"  
  
She shivered with pleasure as his lips brushed her skin. He pulled her off the ground and into a crushing embrace. His lips caressed her neck, delighting in the slight moan she uttered. She ran her hands up the length of his powerful arms. Giving a slight smile, she pushed him away.  
  
"You, sir," she accused, "are proving enough of a distraction already! Be gone and let me finish!"  
  
Instead of releasing her, Hector grasped her hands and stroked them gently. His lips brushed the calluses tenderly.  
  
A blush crept upon Melpomene's face. "I'm afraid my hands are rough from my work."  
  
Hector's warm brown eyes spoke of a greater love than he could express with words. "Rough? No, my love, for the finest silk could not be softer to the touch."  
  
Melpomene's heart was too full to answer. Instead he captured her mouth in a kiss. The basket was forgotten.___

* * *

Hector gazed at his young son, disturbed. What sort of man must he face come morning? This Achilles had spared him today, but tomorrow – he shuddered to think of it. Hector was recognized as a mighty warrior throughout the country, but he knew his skills were ineffective when compared to the soldier he met this afternoon. Hector didn't fear death, but would his son grow up without a father? He tried to feel anger towards Paris for bringing this curse upon them, but it did not come. He, too, had once felt the rash boldness of first love. He, too, had once held it in his hands.  
  
"A plague upon all women!" His shout reverberated on the stone walls.  
  
"There are a great many in the palace, my son." King Priam emerged from behind a column. "Perhaps you shouldn't speak so quickly."  
  
"I did not see you, Father." Hector bowed slightly.  
  
King Priam's eyes were tender. "Women are a curse, Hector."  
  
Hector managed a smile. "And how is that, Father?"  
  
The king's face was serious, but his voice betrayed his amusement. "They pierce our armor and wend their way under our skin and into our hearts, holding us captive." He paused for a moment in thought. "Women possess a far greater weapon than a sword or dagger."  
  
Hector looked up and met his father's eyes. "What weapon is that?"  
  
King Priam shook his head. "It is for every man to find for himself, but it manages to enslave our hearts forever."  
  
"Forever is a long time to keep one captive," Hector responded with a trace of contrition.  
  
The king smiled mysteriously. "I do not believe our hearts raise too many objections, my son."  
  
Hector watched his father walk away. He knew which woman still presided in his heart. He hoped she would escape the city safely if the battle should go ill. Hector thought again of Achilles. For the first time in his life, Hector wished he could refrain from fighting. There had been no quarter in Achilles' eyes, and Hector wondered if he would ever know his son – or see Melpomene again, for Hector was sure that mercy would not be shown to either of them.

* * *

There is more to come, and I hope you all like this story so far. Your reviews are awesome, so keep on giving them! 


	4. Chapter Four

Sorry about the long wait, but things have been busy this summer. I've been working almost non-stop, and I'm moving out of my parents' house and into an apartment, so my mind hasn't really been on this story. I hope you are still interested in what happens!

* * *

The full moon was out, and Melpomene could not sleep. She sighed heavily. Would sleep ever come easily again? She could not remember an undisturbed night since she had sent Hector away. She spotted the large basin full of water and reeds in the corner. They had been soaking for two days and should be ready now. Melpomene sat on the floor and began weaving, as she did every night. She loved the night. In the dark, she didn't have to paint on brave smiles and force encouraging words to leave her lips. At night, she didn't have to pretend that Troy would win the war. At night, she didn't have to pretend that all was well. A sudden shadow fell across her floor. Melpomene glanced up to see a dark figure silhouetted against the moonlight. She felt that fear should seize her heart, but it did not. She waited quietly for the stranger to speak.

"He still thinks of you," the figure whispered.

Melpomene gasped. "Andromache?"

Andromache pulled the hood down. "You know it, don't you?"

"Yes," Melpomene admitted.

"I should despise you," Andromache went on. "I should hate you with glad passion. Why is it that I cannot?"

Melpomene shook her head. "I have often wished that I could dislike you. Although he may think of me, it is you he goes to when the day is done."

The two women looked at each other strangely. Each had the feeling that, had the circumstances been different, they could have been great friends and sisters.

Melpomene held her hands out to Andromache. "I'm so sorry."

Andromache took the proffered hands and squeezed them gently. "He needs you now."

"What has happened?"

Andromache looked down. "He is grieved. A young man fought him today in the guise of the great Achilles. His manner was such that Hector had no doubt who it was. The boy lies slain, and Achilles wants revenge for the death of his cousin."

Melpomene's horror was evident upon her face. "No – no," she murmured.

"The prince is beside himself," Andromache continued. "And he knows that the morning brings a challenge from Achilles. Oh, Melpomene! He goes to his death!"

The two women wept together, their arms about each other. The two who should have been enemies found comfort and strength together. They knew what the dawn would herald, and their very souls seemed to scream with the torture.

"Go to him, Melpomene," Andromache urged. "He needs you tonight."

Melpomene's eyes searched Andromache's face. There was certainty there.

Andromache nodded. "I shall be by his side tomorrow, but tonight, he needs you! Go!"

Andromache watched the slender woman leave and disappear down the street. She wished so much that they could change places just for a moment. For one moment, Andromache wanted to be the woman Hector loved. Just for one moment.

* * *

Melpomene did not need further urging. She abandoned her darkened dwelling and wended her way through the silent streets. She knew that no woman in the city was asleep this night, for every man would do battle tomorrow. What kind of world could this be? Where the men would go to fight and the women stayed helpless behind stone walls.

"If only I were a man!" Melpomene moaned into the night. "If only I were a man to go too!"

Melpomene slipped past the guards unnoticed and found her way quickly to the prince's bedchambers. She opened the door and saw him standing on the balcony, still as one of the statues in the garden.

"You have been gone long, Andromache," Hector said without turning around. "I was worried."

"She sent for me," Melpomene answered quietly.

Hector whirled so fast that Melpomene felt he must fall from the force of it, but he remained steady.

"Melpomene?" he uttered incredulously.

She stepped forward to take his hand. "I am here."

Hector stared at her hungrily for a moment, as if wanting to drink in her presence, her very soul. Suddenly he pulled her into a crushing embrace. He rained kisses upon her hair, her face, and her neck. His arms held her close, refusing to let her go, as if afraid she would disappear. She responded to his affections gladly and without reserve.

Hector began to lead her toward the bed, but she protested. "No, my love," she whispered tenderly. "Your wife has let me come here to spend a few hours with you. I will not betray her trust."

"Just lie there with me," he pleaded. "Just lie with me and let me hold you. Let me hold you until the morning. I will do nothing to impeach your honor. I just want to be near you one last time."

They lay together, and he stroked her hair occasionally. Melpomene could hear him breathing in her scent. She shivered under his touch. So this was what it was like to share a man's bed. She had never known a man, and Melpomene knew she never would, but this was enough. It was enough to lie here in the arms of one she had loved so long. For the first time in seven years, Melpomene rested peacefully. For the first time in seven years, Melpomene slept through the night.

Hector stayed awake for a long while. How Andromache found it in her heart to let him have this he would never know. He looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms, and his heart was at peace. Hector knew that when the sun rose, he would be able to face it without fear. And when the moment came for his death, he knew that this would be the moment he thought of.

"Good night, my love," he whispered gently to the sleeping maiden. "Good night."

* * *

Just so you all know, this story is very close to me because the guy I've been in love with for almost four years just married my best friend. So I can sort of identify with the characters. I just thought you all should know why I chose to write the story this way.


End file.
